


Where Our Demons Hide

by MarvelousAndProud



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock - Fandom, Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, John Has Issues, John Has PTSD, John ISN'T GAY....bisexual (:, John is confused, Johnlock Fluff, M/M, Post-Reichenbach, Sherlock is confused, Sherlock just wants to help, lots of confusion over sexuality
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-12
Updated: 2015-03-15
Packaged: 2018-03-17 13:30:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3531095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarvelousAndProud/pseuds/MarvelousAndProud
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Watson is suffering from PTSD.  Sherlock doesn't know what's wrong and John is being especially stubborn about not telling him.  John thinks he can manage the reoccurring dream of how he got shot in Afghanistan until it changes in an unexpected way and he finally decides he needs to take action so it doesn't become a reality.  The detective has his own demons as well and the residents of 221B Baker Street finally see their demons see light.</p>
<p>In the furthest depths of our minds, that is where our demons hide.<br/>[On hold. Will continue]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Bullet in the Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sherlock sees John is in trouble and John has the worst dream yet. It makes him realize something important though.

 

Sherlock Holmes felt helpless as he watched his best friend slowly decline over the last few weeks. John had just about stopped eating.  He looked thin, much too thin and his eyes, which had once shown brightly, were dull. When it got to the point that John’s cheekbones had started to resemble Sherlock’s the detective finally blew up at him. ‘John you’re a bloody doctor!  You need to take better care of yourself!’  The doctor had simply looked up from his laptop and murmured that he would try harder before he left for some fresh air. As soon as his friend had left the flat, Sherlock snatched the laptop up and worked out the password in under a minute.  John had left up an unsent email to his therapist.  Sherlock’s eyes narrowed, he had been under the assumption that John hadn’t been in contact with the woman in over a year.  The detective’s eyes had barely scanned over the words _Its the same dream every night_ when John came back through the door muttering that he was just going to try to get some sleep.  Sherlock quickly closed the laptop when John’s eyes met his.  Sherlock expected John to look at him annoyed and snatch the laptop away complaining about how he never respected his privacy.  Instead John just started to walk to his room without so much as another glance.  Sherlock knew he should talk to him about whatever was troubling him but John had barely slept over the last few weeks.  He wasn’t about to get in the way of John getting some much-needed rest. 

********************* 

A cloud of dust was thrown up into the air in the strong Afghani wind.  It coated John’s face and dried out his throat. He licked his chapped lips as he tried to focus on the task at hand.  He was covered in dirt and sweat and was elbow deep in a man’s abdomen, trying to save his life.  ‘Corporal Collins! You hold him down NOW!’ The doctor screamed over the sounds of heavy artillery fire.  The terrified younger man was trying to hold down the squirming soldier who was screaming in agony. _Please pass out!  Please just fucking pass out!_   John prayed as he did his best to find the source of the bleeding.  The soldier stopped screaming, but not in the way John had hoped. John sighed as he slowly pulled his arm out of the deceased’s abdomen.  ‘Thank you Corporal….’ John sighed.

‘Yes sir.’  Collins replied sadly as he looked down at his dead friend.  The young man looked up to speak and his eyes went wide.  ‘Sir look ou-’ the young man’s warning was cut short by a bullet to the chest and he slumped over to join his comrade.

‘COLLINS!’  John’s hand gripped at the sidearm on the dead soldier’s belt and he quickly turned towards the shooter.  He was only quick enough to see the whites of the man’s eyes before he felt a shooting pain tear through his right shoulder.   He cried out in pain and gripped at the bleeding wound as he raised the gun.  Before his attacker could take a second shot, John shot him dead.  The man fell forward on top of the army doctor; his weight was suffocating.

Sleeping John felt a suffocating tightening in his chest, as if someone was trying to rip out his lungs. Sherlock, who wasn’t a stranger to being awake at odd times, heard soft whimpers as he silently walked past the doctor’s door.  The detective frowned.  _Why won’t you just come to me John and let me help you?_ He stood there with his hand on the doorknob, pondering whether he should check on him or not.

John’s hand was gripped tightly around his handgun.  He couldn’t remember when he had started sleeping with it under his pillow. He thrashed around under the covers in a cold sweat.  ‘COLLINS!’ he cried out then screamed in apparent pain.

Sherlock burst through the door with voiced concern.  He made it three steps before the gun went off.  John snapped out of the PTSD daze, whether from the crack of the gun or the sound of Sherlock thudding to the floor.  ‘Oh my god…’ John leapt out of his bed to the floor and pulled Sherlock into his arms.  He pressed his hand firmly against the seeping hole in his friend’s chest and the detective started to cough up blood.  ‘Sherlock!’

Sherlock’s eyes were wide as he tried to get words out.  He struggled against the blood in his throat.  ‘John…it’s…its ok,’ he choked out before life left his eyes.

John shook his friend, choking on his own words.  ‘No no no Sherlock, no.  I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.’

 ****************

John awoke in a cold sweat and bolted upright in his bed with a loud scream, his forehead beading with sticky droplets. He looked around, Sherlock wasn't on the floor bleeding out and his gun was safely tucked away in his desk drawer. The panting doctor fell back onto the bed with a soft bounce. He carded his fingers through his hair trying to calm down. Sherlock rushed through the door, his eyes wide in concern. 'John! What's wrong? Are you hurt? Why are you shaking?' The detective was in his blue robe and his dark curls were in disarray; John's scream had clearly woken him. Sherlock awkwardly sat next to the shaking doctor and pulled him into his arms trying to console him. He had seen people do it when someone lost a loved one and it seemed to help so he gave it a try. 'Tell me what's wrong John you've been acting so strange the last few weeks. Please don't insult my intelligence by denying that anything is wrong,' he ended sternly.

John's hands clutched to the lapels of the blue silk robe, his knuckles were white in the grip.  His chest heaved as he tried to calm down enough to find his voice.  When he finally was able to speak his voice was shaky.  'I-It was... ju-just a bad dream Sherlock....'  The darker man half demanded that John elaborate further and the doctor nodded and took a calming breath. John explained the best he could, despite Sherlock's constant pestering for more details, that he had been having the same dream almost every night about the day he got invalided in Afghanistan.

'John...its completely natural for someone who went through what you did to return to the trauma.... have you been under any emotional stress lately, besides the nightmares?'

John almost winced, 'Sherlock I shot you in my dream, you died in my arms.' He swallowed nervously and refused to look him in the face.   _Just look at him or he will think something is terribly wrong!_ John looked up and turned red.  Sherlock's face was incredibly close, his eyes staring intently into the doctor's trying to discern his emotional state.  John's eyes flittered down to the detectives perfectly sculpted lips.  He shouldn't be looking there!  _IM NOT GAY!_  His mind screamed but his eyes and his following action said otherwise.  Sherlock noticed the odd downward gaze and was very confused and quite frankly, oblivious to what it meant.  He was even more confused when John leaned in and kissed him.   _  
_

 

 

 


	2. Having a Domestic?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sherlock comes to his sense and tries to figure out what the hell just happened. Meanwhile John pays a short visit to DI Lestrade hoping for some advice about what the hell just happened.

 

John felt every inch of Sherlock’s body tense up and freeze as if he had be frozen solid.  John immediately pulled back with a mortified expression.  ‘Oh. My. God. Sherlock I am so sorry,’ he blundered as he turned crimson and carded his fingers through his hair in deep embarrassment.

Sherlock opened his mouth slightly and blinked.   _You. Just. Kissed. Me._

‘I-I don’t know why I just did that,’ John continued in disbelief.

Sherlock closed his mouth back up and blinked again.   _You don’t know why you kissed me?_

‘I was upset-’

_John you just kissed me._

‘-and it sorta just happened,’ John stammered on.

Sherlock’s lips parted again with two blinks of his eyes. _You just sorta happened to kiss me?_

‘Sherlock are you even listening to me!’ John sounded more distressed.

Sherlock stared at him blankly. _Well of course I am John._

John’s nostrils flared in annoyance but his eyes showed just how mortified he was and he pushed past Sherlock and quickly left the bedroom.

The detective remained in his frozen state until the slamming of the flat door jolted him into full awareness that he hadn’t spoken a single word out loud.  ‘John!’ He ran the door and threw it open his eyes wide, searching for his friend who had already cleared the building.

Mrs. Hudson exited her flat in her nightie. 'Sherlock what is going on. I wake up to get a glass of water.  I found myself quite parched. What's with the door slamming? Are you two having a domestic? My husband and I were just the same. We used to bicker and-'

'Mrs. Hudson this is not the time!'

'Oh Sherlock it will be ok what happened?'

Sherlock blinked.  'He-he kissed me.'

'Well that can't be that unusual Im sure you two snog all the time,' she replied with a light laugh.

'For the last time John and I are not together!'  The detective's annoyance was not at all subtle.

'Are you sure dear?'

'Yes. Mrs. Hudson. I'm. _Quite_. Sure.'

The landlady inquired further with a raised eyebrow, ‘does John know that?'  

'Well of course he does he isn't a complete idiot!'  Sherlock said with jolt of his hands at the sides of his face.

'Well do you _want_ to be with him?' She said delicately.

'I don't know!' Sherlock voiced angrily. He blinked a few times. 'I-I don't know and I don't like not knowing,' the detective brought the conversation to an abrupt halt with another slam of the door as he returned to the flat.

The dark haired man paced around the living room having an internal debate with himself.

_John is clearly under a great deal of stressed and therefore any action taken during this state cannot be qualified as being what he actually wants.  Right? Right!  Or maybe? No.  Well why not?  Uggh because its John!_

The detectives eyes flashed to the bookshelf where a particular book (the collection of all works by some philosopher that Sherlock hadn’t bothered to remember his name) was, with its pages carved out to make a suitable hiding spot for the Moroccan leather case which held his special seven percent solution of cocaine.  He wasn’t proud to have fallen back into old habits lately, but it is what it is. The stimulant could give his brain the extra boost to figure out what the kiss had _truly_ meant. Sherlock Holmes had little to no knowledge in the ways of the heart (it’s an internal organ, what does it know anyways).

 _What did it mean? Think. Think. Use your mind and think._ He smacked his forehead trying to urge his mind to wake up, to no avail. Sherlock was no closer to figuring out what the kiss had meant than John was.

~

John fled from the flat as if it had been on fire. He hopped in the first cab that he managed to flag down. ‘Just drive please, I haven’t decided where I want to go just yet,’ he said breathlessly to the cabbie, who had given the man in sleeping pants and a t-shirt a strange look.  Where would he go? It was five in the bloody morning. Mike? No he would be on his way to work. Molly? No he wasn’t all that close with the pathologist. The was always Greg.  The detective inspector had always been kind to John.  He knew better than almost anyone what it felt like to have no idea what was going on in Sherlock’s mind.  

John purposively tried to _not_ think about anything to do with Sherlock on the ride of to Lestrade’s flat. He made awkward conversation with the driver and asked him to stay, as he didn’t plan on staying a long time.

When his knock was answered and the door opened John internally cursed at the universe. Of _all_ the people in the world. There were two that John did not want to see when the door was opened. One of them was back on Baker Street, most likely sulking with confusion. The other was standing in front of John. The elder Holmes brother, wearing just a bathrobe of crimson silk, stood before him in the doorway. _What is it with the Holmes and silk bathrobes?_

 _‘_ Um. I know it’s early. So sorry to have woken you _two-’_

‘John how _pleasant_ is is to see you at such an hour. Please _do_ come in,’ he said flashing a fake smile that didn’t reach his eyes. ‘You needn't worry yourself. Gregory and I barely got any sleep anyways,’ the elder Holmes brother gave him a knowing look which also served as a warning as John entered the flat.

Luckily the warning was unneeded (for the most part) when Lestrade walked out in his boxers, yawning lazily. ‘Mmm wh-what are you doing here John. John!’ He suddenly realized he was standing in his front room in just his underwear with the man he shared a bed with the previous night.  John went to speak to assure him it was ok and that he wouldn’t inform Sherlock but Greg cut his off. ‘Doesn’t really matter Sherlock will figure it out the moment he sees my face.’  

‘He-he is actually why I’m here.’ John really would have prefered that Sherlock’s own kin not be there and Mycroft saw his discomfort right away.

The man grinned, ‘ _Oh John_ so something finally happened didn’t it?  Please don’t be embarrassed by my presence but please if it’s anything detailed I really do not want to know.’

The doctor turned nearly as red as Mycroft’s robe, ‘no no no it wasn’t like that.’ He swiped his tongue quickly across his bottom lip, almost able to still taste Sherlock.  

Mycroft’s eyes followed the slight movement and a smirk slowly form on his face. ‘So you two snogged did you?’  

John internally groaned. _Fucking. Holmes. Brothers._ ‘Well I kissed him and Sherlock, he-he just froze and seemed to be incapable of speech for a good couple of minutes before I ran away essentially.’ He frowned at how ridiculous he must have sounded.

Mycroft actually attempted to hide his smirk, but gave up on the attempt right away. ‘Well of course he didn’t reciprocate. It is Sherlock we are talking about. My little brother probably hasn’t had a proper snog in a decade. He doesn’t do well with things he can’t foresee, so you caught him in surprise. I wish I could have see his face.’

Greg had finally recovered from his state of shock, ‘wait so you _actually_ are-’

‘I’m not gay!’ John’s tone made Greg completely wake up and Mycroft smirk.

‘Neither am I John and look at me,’ Greg grinned in response.

‘There is nothing wrong with being gay or _in your case_ , bisexual John. Oh don’t look at me like that it’s fairly obvious.’ Mycroft tried to ease the tension in John’s body language.  

‘Woah woah wait you're telling us you kissed _Sherlock Holmes_ and didn't stick around to talk to him about it?' Greg said in disbelief.

'Wait was I supposed to do? He froze up. I had no way of knowing if it would be for a few moments or an hour. For all I know he could still be a human statue in my bedroom and-'

'Wait what!' Greg and Mycroft exclaimed in unison.

John looked at them alarmed.

'Why was he in _your room_ so early in the morning...' Greg said, trying to hide his smirk.

Mycroft rolled his eyes, 'Gregory we have already established that a simple kiss was all that passed between John and my dear brother. Though I am curious as to know the reason none the less.'

John froze. He didn't want to delve into the problems he had been having. 'It's not important to Sherlock situation. What do I do?'

'Oh I don't know. _Go back and talk to him_. John he is your best friend just talk to him,' the detective inspector said with a reassuring smile.

‘John how much weight have you lost.  You don’t look well,’ Mycroft interjected.

Greg looked down, he had noticed but politely chose not to bring it up.

John looked down.  ‘Just don’t worry. I’m fine. I’m going back home, I shall work things out with Sherlock and make you he is ok.’

Greg smiled sadly. ‘Just make sure you’re ok too John.’

The doctor nodded and the three made their goodbyes before John took his leave.  He slowly made his way back to the cab and got in. ‘Back to Baker Street,’ he sighed as the cabbie started driving.  John laid his head back to think about what he was going to say to Sherlock when he returned to the flat. This was going to be an interesting discussion.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I appreciate any comments. Advice about my writing or even things you would like to see happen in the fic. I am researching PTSD to give accurate descriptions of what John is going through. Sherlock's drug habits will come into play. We all have our demons after all.


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